


There's a Knife in the Drawer

by biscuits_and_whiskey



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Does Get a Hug, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23677303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biscuits_and_whiskey/pseuds/biscuits_and_whiskey
Summary: Most nights, Crowley slept well.This was not one of those nights.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 181





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Suomi available: [Laatikostossa on veitsi](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27200906) by [Swanandherqueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swanandherqueen/pseuds/Swanandherqueen)



Most nights, Crowley slept without interruption.

Most nights, his back would hit the mattress and, give or take a minute, he’d be asleep.

Most nights, with Aziraphale at his side, said sleep was wonderful and rejuvenating.

  
This wasn’t one of those nights.

  
He wasn’t sure why he’d woken up.

  
All he knew was that, suddenly, he was awake.

No nightmares or dreams as the cause, just awake.

He glanced around the darkened room, _his_ darkened room, the one in his flat.

It was the first time he’d slept there in months, a return to form suggested by his angel for reasons unknown to him.

  
On that note, as his eyes adjusted, he realized he was no longer facing Aziraphale.

He rolled over and, rather adorably, saw the angel slumbering peacefully.

He smiled fondly.

“ _Must’ve gotten warm._ ”

He leaned up and eyed the LED clock on his end table: 1:32 am.

He sighed and flattened himself against his pillow.

Sleep was a fickle one, and there was no exception here.

His gaze, as always, returned to Aziraphale.

He watched his chest rise and fall, the shift of his body under the blankets.

It looked wonderfully comfy.

“ _Suppose he’d just elbow me if he got warm again._ ” He thought as he inched closer. “ _Worth it; would like to get back to sleep_.”

  
His fingers reached for Aziraphale’s arm.

_Best not_.

  
Crowley froze.

“ _Who said that?_ ” 

He sharply sat up and surveyed the room.

The possibility of Heaven or Hell coming back for revenge had been a present thought ever since their last-minute trick at their executions.

He knew it could happen. No, he knew _it’d happen_ , it was just a question of when.

The concept of being attacked while they slept made a grim sort of sense: they were, far as he knew, the only angel and demon who slept.

  
But he saw, and smelled, only themselves.

Crowley stalled, lingered.

Then he took a deep breath.

Slowly, he lowered himself back onto the mattress, back close to Aziraphale.

“ _Just my imagination then._ ” Crowley thought. “ _Course it wouldn’t shut up when I want to sleep. Things never go that smoothly._ ”

He returned to his gradual inching towards his angel, towards his beloved who still slept undisturbed, unaware of the possibility that panicked Crowley.

He inched his arm around him.

_You’re not good for him_.

  
Crowley’s eyes shot wide again.

He surveyed the room again.

  
But still, there was no one.

  
He frowned.

“ _Alright, what game are you playin’ at?_ ” He sent out mentally. “ _Hastur? Is that you? Sad little mind game if it’s you, not even a good one. How bout you bugger off and let us sleep? Or should we remind you that you can’t even_ try _to hurt us?_ ”

But there was no answer.

No answer, at least, until he laid back again.

 _Demon consorting an angel, who are you kidding? Do you really think you have an iota of anything to offer? Even an ounce of something that makes you worthy of an_ angel’s _love?_

Crowley stopped.

The voice, suddenly, was all too familiar.

  
No, no need to worry about _another_ demon here.

He screwed his eyes shut.

“ _Bloody heaven, go sod off. I don’t need to listen to you, I_ know _you’re full of shite now. Save your little spiel, go bother some other demon. Aziraphale knows I love him. He loves me too, he’s_ said it. _Bugger off._ ”

The voice went silent.

Crowley, despite himself, still waited.

He waited for a retort, and answer.

But nothing.

So, slowly, he returned to cuddling against Aziraphale, and let his eyes fall shut.

_Demons can’t love._ You _can’t love him. Part of your nature._

 _  
_ Crowley woke once more.

 _Don’t you think that Aziraphale knows that too? He’s just entertaining your delusions, he_ knows _what you are, and when he gets tired of you, he’ll leave. Just like you left_ her _._

Crowley winced at the low blow.

“ _D-Didn’t_ leave her _, she…s’not the_ point. _Don’t care what you think. Besides, known me six thousand years. Little long for a joke, don’t you think?_ ”

_Patience is a virtue, demon. And aren’t angels the incarnate of the holiest virtues?_

  
Crowley stalled, bit his lip.

And cursed himself as he realized that, no, he couldn’t argue that.

_If anyone could entertain something as foul as you, it’d be an angel._

“ _There’s no point though. Why? Why would he pretend for so long, if he_ is _pretending, which he isn’t?_ ”

 _Why not? You’re a demon,_ fallen. _Your existence is to be reminded of everything you gave up, everything you_ threw away _, for what? Wasn’t her love enough for you?_

Another low blow, one that forced tears to his eyes.

“ _Was…look, I-I didn’t…I just_ asked questions _– “_

 _And look where it got you. Lower than the dirt, a demon. Forever cast out, forever_ loathed _. Yet you try to sleep with an angel, claim you_ love _one? What exactly are you playing at,_ demon _? Want to drag one of her cherished children down_ with you _?_

  
A whine-like sob threatened to creep past his lips.

He stifled it with a sharp hand over his mouth.

He shook his head wildly.

He needed help; he needed an _ally_.

Someone to fight whatever this _thing_ in his head was.

He needed Aziraphale.

He started to reach towards him.

_DON’T. What do you think you’re doing?? Want to taint him more than you already have?_

Crowley’s hand retracted, shamefully, like from a hot stove.

 _Look at him. Look at how peaceful he is, how at ease he is. You remember that, don’t you? When_ you _were in her presence?_

His gaze, for a moment, softened.

 _Would you really inflict_ falling _upon him? Let him careen into the pits of sulfur? Let him burn from the inside out, incinerate her grace, condemn him to the depths that_ you _dwell within? That Hastur and Dagon dwell within?_

His pupils narrowed.

He shook his head.

 _Then why lay with him still? Leave. Spare him from such a fate. Spare him from_ you _._

 _  
_ His eyes went wide.

That, Crowley wasn’t sure he could do.

The urge to leave was strong; to let his angel fall was something he _never_ would allow to happen.

The memories of his own remained painful even six thousand years later.

  
But, yet, leaving the bed seemed just as difficult.

There was safety here.

There was his bright spot, amidst all else, here.

So, he sufficed.

He rolled over once more, away from Aziraphale, and curled into a tight ball.

 _Pathetic. You must not care_ that _much about him then._

“ _Shut up! You’re lying, I_ know _you’re lying! He loves me, Aziraphale_ loves _me. And I love him, and I’ll say it as many bloody times as it takes to make you_ SHUT UP _.”_

He yanked, pulled at his hair, as if he could yank out the voice in his head.

Said voice’s tone grew quiet.

 _If that’s the case, why are you still listening? You must agree, or at least know_ I’m right _._

  
The fight began to peter out.

Exhaustion beckoned, but not the one that’d let him sleep.

He sniffled and held back another sob.

 _You know that your existence is a blight, not just to Aziraphale, but everyone. Why continue? Do you really think that_ she’ll _redeem you? Is that why you cling to the angel? Some weak hope that she’ll_ love you again _?_

He shook his head and softly keened.

“ _That’s not it…”_

He knew that’d never happen.

Crowley’s fight against his cries weakened.

 _You know it’s hopeless. Why do you try? Nothing you can do will change the fact that you’re a demon. Evil, wicked, vile, disgusting. Corruption in physical form. The antithesis to your angel and being around will only_ seal _his fate. You know this._

Crowley bit his fist as the tears dripped onto his pillow.

 _Doesn’t have to be this way though. You know that there’s something you can do. You can_ save him. _You can do at least one thing in your damned life right._

Crowley’s tears tracked trails down his cheeks.

  
_There’s a knife in the drawer._

_  
_ His blood froze.

Instinctually, his eyes flew to the end table.

Indeed, it was true.

Amongst the scant personal belongings that he gathered over the millennia, there was a knife.

It was beautiful, crafted with a Damascus metal blade.

A gift from one of his human friends centuries ago, a symbol of their friendship.

That was its intent, at least.

He only ever saw it in his worst moments.

Shamefully, he’d had a few lately.

But the voice was suggesting something far different.

Something far more permanent.

“ _No…no, I won’t. You can’t make me._ _That won’t – I don’t_ want _that anymore. I won’t let you –_ “

  
_There’s a knife in the drawer._

_Just a test, see if you go through with it_ this time _._

_Coward._

_Snake._

_Hold it up to your neck, see what happens._

_Maybe you’ll be brave for once._

_  
_ “ _NO! I-I won’t. I don’t want that. Please, stop!_ ” He yelled internally.

  
_There’s a knife in the drawer._

_There’s a knife in the drawer._

_There’s a knife in the drawer._

_There’s a knife in the drawer._

  
“ _SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP_ ”

_  
There’s a knife in the drawer._

_There’s a knife in the drawer._

_There’s a knife in the drawer._

_THERE’S A KNIFE IN THE DRAWER._

_  
_ “ _PLEASE STOP_ ”

_THERE’S A KNIFE IN THE DRAWER._

_THERE’S A KNIFE IN THE DRAWER._

_WHAT’S STOPPING YOU, JUST DO IT._

_SEE IF YOU’LL DO IT THIS TIME, YOU COWARD._

_DON’T YOU WANT TO SAVE HIM._

_IF YOU CARE ABOUT HIM, YOU’LL DO IT._

_  
_ “ _P-Please, I can’t…_ ”

Any sense of concern, or guilt, of waking Aziraphale, or even _awareness_ of Aziraphale’s continued presence, was gone.

Crowley was shaking, shivering, sobbing into his hands as his palms feebly tried to stem the flow of tears.

It was loud, _so loud_.

  
And he couldn’t make it stop.

  
And part of him wanted to do it just to make it stop.

  
_There’s a knife in the drawer._

_There’s a knife in the drawer._

_There’s a knife in the drawer._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iz the fic good? heck no
> 
> is it written? heck yes
> 
> enjoy the angst, i promise next chap will be up in like an hour


	2. Chapter 2

He woke at the first, shuddered whimper.

  
He hadn’t been sure, at first. When he woke, he wondered if he’d been hearing things, a lingering remnant of a nightmare he wasn’t sure he had.

It had to; he’d, blessedly, heard the sound only a handful of times over six thousand years.

And this wasn’t like those other times: they were safe, snuggled in comfy blankets and cuddled together.

  
But he listened again, and realized he wasn’t hearing things.

Indeed, he heard Crowley _cry_.

  
With the sound, Aziraphale could _feel_ his demon’s trembling, subtle yet achingly loud.

“Crowley?” he said quietly.

He turned over.

  
Seeing the demon was so much worse than just hearing him.

Crowley, in Aziraphale’s mind, could be summarized as a few things: cool, put-together on most occasions (discounting end of the world shenanigans), and most of all, beautifully and fantastically strong.

To see him a quivering mess, curled into himself, hair barely visible amidst clenched fingers, was nothing short of heartbreaking.

  
It took everything within Aziraphale not to cry himself.

“Crowley?” He called again.

Carefully, gently, he laid a hand on the demon’s shoulder.

Crowley’s attention snapped to him.

He’d hoped that, maybe, he could provide comfort by being there.

But, distressingly, it seemed to do the opposite.

  
His beloved demon, so close and impatiently affectionate, _recoiled_.

Like a startled animal, he skittered away, knocked his head against the headboard as he pressed his body into the wood.

His stare was all serpentine yellow, not a hint of white.

He was still trembling.

  
Aziraphale swallowed his hurt.

“Crowley, dear…” He said gently, cautiously.

He didn’t dare move closer.

He kept out a hand, however. An open invitation for Crowley to accept, and only on Crowley’s terms.

But, disconcertingly, he stayed put.

At this, Aziraphale watched him, to gauge anything from this strange, confusing, alarming behavior.

Everything from his posture to his teeth, fangs elongated, shouted terror and a strictly stern message to stay away.

But the _eyes_.

Well, they begged the exact opposite.

  
“My dear boy,” Aziraphale started as he leaned forward. “what is the matter?”

  
At his movement, Crowley backed even further away.

He forced his teeth to grit, almost snarl, but it was a weak effort.

“ _Ssssssssstay away_.” He hissed.

  
Well wasn’t that a kick to the heart.

Aziraphale couldn’t hide the flicker of pain he felt so tangibly in his face.

“Crowley, did…did I do something?” He suggested, though he felt that wasn’t it. “Please, dear, I’m sorry if I – “

“ _No!_ ” Crowley snapped. “Not, erg, not…just _sssssstay_ back!”

“I…I won’t! Crowley, no, please, talk to me.” Aziraphale said firmly.

He softened.

“Crowley, I want to help you. I _love_ you.”

A pained look crossed Crowley’s face, paired with a mismatched, hysterical grin.

“You…you _ssssssstupid_ angel! Y-You don’t…’ma demon! _Demon_! Pure evil, me, and…you have a _death wish_? Huh? Want to _fall_?” He sniggered sloppily.

Aziraphale could only listen in shock.

“Cause that…tha’s what will…arg, you _fucking know that_ , and you’re _still_ …” His grin and loopy laughter faltered.

The strained expression returned.

He snarled again.

“Don’t you _understand_?! Y-You… _I_ …you have to leave, ‘ziraphale! Do you know… _do you know_ …won’t let that! _Pleasssssse_ …”

His fangs drove into his bottom lip.

The fear in his eyes was palpable.

  
Aziraphale couldn’t hide his dismay.

“My dear, whatever are you on about?” He asked.

  
“Just _sssstop!_ ” Crowley flared. “M’not good. I-I could hurt…you could…just _pleasssse_ …”

  
Aziraphale watched as Crowley flickered back to tearfulness, to fear.

“Crowley, you won’t hurt me.” He said calmly.

“Y’don’t know that!”

“I _do_. Crowley, please,” He said softly. “I know you’re scared. I can’t say I know why, but I can _feel it_ from you.”

Crowley shook like a leaf in a storm.

“Dear,” tried Aziraphale gently. “will you try, please, to breathe? If you can, and if you may, please let me know what I can do to help. I _want_ to help, Crowley. Please.”

  
Crowley’s expression was a torn mix of everything and anything.

_Please go away no please stay oh angel I’m fine I’m NOT fine just let me die please don’t let me die I’m scared I’m angry please stop please don’t leave me_

His eyes glistened.

Aziraphale waited patiently.

Crowley swallowed dryly.

“K-Knife.” He finally eked out.

Aziraphale blinked.

That wasn’t what he expected.

“Knife?” he repeated.

  
Crowley swallowed thickly.

“K-Knife…drawer…” He said as he shakily gestured to the end table.

He lingered, hesitated.

“…take it away. You n- _need_ to. Angel, please, I can’t…I _don’t_ …”

  
Aziraphale’s eyes searched for the connection.

He understood there was a knife.

He understood it was stored in Crowley’s bedside table.

But what he didn’t initially understand was the _why_ , or why Crowley was so distressed -

  
His stomach twisted.

It hit him, hard.

It took everything within Aziraphale to give only a calm nod.

Slowly, he crept across the bed.

With his back turned, he opened the drawer and pulled out the knife.

Crowley watched it like one would watch a coyote.

Aziraphale tucked it carefully into his pocket.

“I’ll be right back.” Assured Aziraphale.

  
Crowley, for his part, remained in bed, his legs tucked tightly against his chest.

  
Aziraphale, then, partook in a near-crazed crusade, a mission to throw out or conceal _anything_ sharp, anything with a point or edge, serrated or otherwise.

Even the forks weren’t spared.

When he returned, face slightly red, he fixed his pajama collar.

“I’ve put the knife away. _All_ the knives. And, well, the sharp things too. Perhaps a bit overboard, but you’re free of cutlery for the time.” He said as he sat once more. “Not to worry, though, they are with me. Safe in my own angelic dimension of sorts.”

Crowley’s gaze, averted to the sheets, didn’t raise.

He grunted, something half irritated, half grateful.

  
Aziraphale waited, his hands folded in his lap.

Exhaustion pricked at the back of his mind; he wouldn’t let it take him under.

Not when Crowley so obviously needed him.

  
He hadn’t considered that, perhaps, things had gotten this _bad_.

He’d noticed, of course, Crowley becoming fidgety and irritable as of lately.

Not to say that Crowley wasn’t always irritable, Aziraphale knew _that_ wasn’t true, but recently he’d been downright malcontent.

Their meetings would occasionally be cut short, the demon returning to his flat to do someone knows what.

He might’ve assumed some things. The changes that came with the cancelled Armageddon were good, but they were still changes. He knew well enough that even good changes could be stressful, and he’d wondered absently how both would cope.

  
But this wasn’t the answer he thought he’d get.

  
He considered, as the silence went on, his next course of action.

He wrung his hands gently together, played with the buttons of his pajama top.

He might be an angel, but that didn’t guarantee any answers.

And, admittedly, Aziraphale had never been great with _this_.

  
To take one’s life purposefully was a concept he could never understand.

He’d seen it, of course, through the millennia.

He’d driven a wedge between himself and Crowley that fateful day in the 19th century, partly _because_ the thought horrified him so.

No, he could never understand _why_ , he only knew how he felt about the concept, _especially_ when it involved Crowley.

  
It was his feelings about the subject that made him glad that the myth of angel’s tears causing floods was just that: a myth.

So, for the time, the silence lingered.

“ _I’ll let him lead._ ” He eventually decided. “ _Best if I listen. He_ needs _me and, well, rather he_ says _what he needs than I assume anything_.”

  
So, he waited for Crowley to say something, anything.

  
Eventually, Crowley did.

“This isn’t a r-regular thing…” He mumbled. “…thought I was over this. Just kinda popped back up, like…like uh…whatever pops back up.”

  
Aziraphale nodded.

  
Crowley worried his lip and tugged at a loose thread.

“R-really not a huge deal, angel. S’not like a, um, Saturday night thing. Don’t go thinking bout this for _fun_ , nah, barely a thing.” He continued. “Been a hot _century_ I bet, so you know, no need to worry about me. Really. Not fragile like a…like, erk, white flower… _daisy_. That’s it, a daisy. M’fine.”

  
Crowley dared to look up, to meet Aziraphale’s eyes.

He would’ve folded if he could, crumpled at his gaze.

“The thing is, Crowley, you say not to worry, but I _am_.” Aziraphale said so softly.

Crowley winced.

Aziraphale reached a hand between the space.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I never – “He started.

  
“Agh, don’t take it personally angel, but I’ve, uh, dealt with this for a while. Before our, you know, _arrangement_.” Crowley said with a hand wave.

  
Aziraphale’s face drained.

“That…That long. _Millennia_ , you – “He fumbled.

“Ngk, no, that’s still worrying! You really don’t need to…I’m _fine_ , angel. Please, t’was a one off, weird thing. Totally over it, not gonna happen again.”

He forced a grin.

“Could cuddle instead. Pick that back up. Yeah?”

  
The angel’s hand bridged the gap.

It settled so quietly, but it might as well have shattered the mattress.

  
Crowley’s grin evaporated and, reluctantly, he met his angel’s eyes again.

And oh _no_ , no, this wouldn’t do.

The angel looked stricken, panicked beyond words.

Like any moment Crowley would slip away, through his fingers like sand.

“Crowley, please,” Aziraphale near pleaded. “don’t say you’re fine because, dear, I _know_ when you’re not. And this? It isn’t fine.”

  
Tears pricked Aziraphale’s eyes; Crowley could feel that voice chastise him further and he shrunk.

“Crowley…I _love_ you. I love you dreadfully so. You…don’t you…if you were _gone_ , would you really think I’d be better off?”

Crowley snorted.

“I mean, less of a tab to pick up at the Ritz – “

“ _Crowley._ ”

  
He sobered.

“I need you to be serious. Please.”

Crowley, uncomfortably, picked at his jammies.

“…Can’t tell me you never worried about it, can you?”

He looked at Aziraphale, who watched him patiently.

“You, and me. You’re… _fraternizing_ – “

Aziraphale grimaced.

“ – with a demon. You’re an angel.”

“I’m aware. And it doesn’t concern me.”

“Cept, _cept_ , don’t you worry?” Crowley flung feverishly. “Demons were originally _like you_ , then, you know, we _fell_. _You_ could fall. Do you _know_ what that means, Angel?!”

Serpentine yellow eclipsed his eyes once more. Slit pupils narrowed further as he stared, wildly, at his angel.

“You _dive_ , _plummet_ into a lake of sulfur. You _burn_ , Angel. Every last part of you, _anything_ good just, fwoof, gone. _Her_ love, your own _capacity_ for…just…just gone.”

Tears rolled down his face.

“And you’re just picking up the pieces. For forever.”

He gritted his teeth.

“ _That’s_ what could happen to you, Aziraphale. That could happen to you if you fall, and we fell because we sinned and by being with me – “

“I _won’t_ fall from being with you, Crowley.”

“We can’t chance that, Angel! _I_ can’t chance that – “

  
“Crowley, _stop_.”

Aziraphale was, suddenly, very close.

His hands clasped around his face.

It felt so nice, it almost made Crowley forget.

Almost.

“Listen to me, Crowley.” Aziraphale said steadily. “Being with you as friends, as _more_ , won’t make me fall. _Loving_ you, won’t make me fall. If it did, I would’ve fallen a very long time ago.”

His thumbs brushed away Crowley’s tears.

“My brave dear, I know you’re trying to protect me, but if you think I’d be better off without you…well, I’m afraid you’re sorely mistaken.”

  
Crowley’s eyes watered, crinkled upwards.

“B-but you _don’t know_ …Angel, this is still new. An’ I’m a _demon_ – “

“It doesn’t matter. I love you.”

“B-But I can’t – “

“You can. I know, believe me. Every little thing you do tells me so.”

“’m a demon…”

“That doesn’t change a thing. And it never will.”

“I’m vile, _worthless_ , how could you – “Crowley replied hoarsely, sobs broken with whines as he fell apart once more.

Aziraphale held him, perhaps the only thing holding him together, and felt as each sob stabbed at his heart.

How could his beloved, clever, wily demon say such awful things about himself?

How could he believe such things?

More, how could _he_ , an angel, never notice?

Thousands of years like this…and he never thought something off?

Shouldn’t an _angel_ be aware enough, entuned enough, to sense such a deep pain?

Shouldn’t he have _done something_?

Shouldn’t _he_ –

  
Aziraphale squashed the thoughts; they’d do nothing to help right now.

  
“Crowley, dear boy, listen to me.”

He tilted Crowley’s chin up.

If he could do something to never see his beloved this miserable, eyes blotchy red and face soaked with tears, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“You are _not_ vile. You are _not_ worthless. You are _not_ evil and by absolutely no means would killing yourself, even discorporation, do anything good for anyone.”

Tears of Aziraphale’s own rolled down his cheeks as he gazed, meltingly, at his demon.

“Oh, my clever Crowley, you are so frightfully wonderful. Beautiful, amazing. You are a _delight_ to be with; I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Crowley hiccupped tearfully.

Aziraphale could see the retort, the dismissal churning in his eyes, and continued.

“I know you love me. I know it when you bring wine for us to share. I know it when you smile, I know it when we talk. I know it, well, even when we _argue_.” He chuckled. “And I know it even here, even when you claim you _can’t love_.”

“And, Crowley, my dearest friend, I feel blessed to call you my friend. To have someone who loves me so much, and that I love so much back.”

Crowley choked on another sob that devolved into a keening cry.

Aziraphale’s words were like a hot knife through butter; they cut to his very soul and he wanted them, oh how he _wanted_ them. He wanted to trust him, his beloved angel.

Yet, still, they were so hard to believe.

And what did that say about him?

“N…N-N…” Crowley feebly denied.

  
“Come here.”

Aziraphale pulled him close, into his embrace.

One hand carded through his hair, the other pressed against his mid-back.

And, gently, he rocked him back and forth.

  
He held him as he felt Crowley’s tears rise and fall, through keened cries and soft whimpers, through shaking sobs and trembling coughs.

Through every teardrop.

“My dear, my brave Crowley, you’ve been fighting this for _so long_.” He said softly. “I cannot imagine how…how heavy it must’ve been. To carry it _alone_.”

He felt Crowley’s hands, finally, reach to hug him back.

“Wanna…wanna _believe_ …angel, I’m sorry – “

“I can believe for us both, dear. For now. Until you’re ready.”

Crowley sniffled and curled into Aziraphale’s embrace.

“But please, Crowley, can you promise me one thing?”

Without hesitation, he answered, in a hushed voice:

“Anything for you, angel.”

  
And oh, his heart, already aching, ached even more.

It ached as Aziraphale breathed in, felt every ounce of love, the love he _didn’t believe he had_ , flow from Crowley.

Oh, how could he _ever_ believe he couldn’t love?

  
“Please, dear, promise that you won’t do anything rash.” Aziraphale breathed out, his own eyes glistening. “At least until morning. Stay with me.”

He swallowed as Crowley’s answer hesitated.

“Please, Crowley…”

He felt him nod.

“I-I’ll try.” He said. “I’ll at least try, for _you_.”

  
Aziraphale sighed, relieved. It was a start, at least.

“Thank you.” He said softly.

He started to ease from the hug, but Crowley’s arms held him fast.

“P-Please, just…” Crowley started nervously, almost apologetically. “…not yet.”

Maybe he too worried he’d slip away.

“Of course.” Aziraphale said as he hugged him once more.

The two sat for some time, wrapped together, saying nothing but doing everything to hold each other upright.

Until eventually, sleep claimed them both.

They fell back against the mattress, entangled together, at peace.

  
Tomorrow would be another challenge, but that could wait for now.


End file.
